


Tooth Hurty

by inklizard (skinklegs)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinklegs/pseuds/inklizard
Summary: Post-wisdom tooth removal drug-induced delirium, plus consequences.
Relationships: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 19
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway I refuse to believe there's only one surgeon/hospital in a city where gaggles of children are in semi-constant mortal peril. Could I have used Stein? Yes. Did I? No. Please enjoy regardless.

Big, fat tears pooled in the corners of Soul’s eyes, rolling down his swollen cheeks and onto the pillow underneath his head. He was blubbering something incomprehensible around a mouthful of cotton, and with the hand not restrained by the IV, he pawed weakly at the white sheet that covered his cot. Maka stared down at him, frowning, concerned.

“What’s he saying?” she asked.

“He shouldn’t be saying anything,” said his nurse, looking pointedly down at her patient. “If you’re not careful, you’ll tear your stitches open.”

Soul frowned as deeply as he could with his cheeks stuffed full of gauze. A drop of pink saliva leaked from the corner of his mouth. Ew, thought Maka.

“You heard the lady,” she said, reaching out to push Soul’s bangs back from his forehead. “Knock it off, you big baby.”

He reached clumsily for her hand when she pulled it away, but his did not make it far off the bed before plopping defeatedly back down beside him. Maka felt guilty for smiling. Taking pity on him, she doubled back and took his hand gently in between hers, pinning it down on the cot to keep him from squirming. It worked. He settled down almost immediately.

The nurse rattled off instructions for Maka as she set about removing the IV from Soul’s arm. He took no notice of what she was doing, even as big drops of blood began oozing out of the pinprick in his skin. The nurse dabbed at them with a gauze pad as she droned on. Maka nodded along diligently. Soul was not paying attention. His eyes, wide and full of despair disproportionate to the situation, were fixed on Maka.

“You’ll want to give him at least ten minutes to recuperate before he tries to walk. If you need anything, let us know; and if not, whenever you’re ready, go ahead and check out downstairs.”

“Thank you,” Maka said sweetly, tapping her thumb absentmindedly against the top of Soul’s hand.

And with that, the nurse left them, shutting the door to the recovery room behind her as she went. It was a large, sterile, empty room with a muted TV affixed to the corner of the wall. It was playing reruns of a sitcom Maka did not recognize, but her eyes wandered in that direction anyway, looking for something to help pass the ten minutes she would need to spend consoling her miserable, drugged partner.

“Maah-ah,” came his voice from below her. She looked down at him, and he sniffled loudly.

“Shush,” said Maka. “You’re fine.”

Soul made a long, drawn-out noise of protest and shook his head. His mouth hung slack in a frown and his eyes were shut tightly. “I’m a bad partner,” he said slowly, enunciating around the bloodied cotton balls crammed into his mouth.

Maka smiled patiently and gave his hand a soft squeeze. “No, you’re not,” she told him, resisting the urge to tack on that he had no idea what he was talking about.

“I am,” wailed Soul. “I can’t protect you like this!”

As if to prove a point, he raised his free hand and wiggled his fingers. Maka had no clue what he was doing.

“Soul,” she said, “I don’t need protecting. We’re not in any danger.”

“But what if something happens?” slurred Soul in rebuttal. “I can hardly—” he hiccupped “—move!”

Maka managed to stifle a laugh, but was unable to keep the smile off her face. Soul frowned at her, not understanding what was funny about what, in his head, must have been a very dire situation. How sweet, thought Maka. She was expecting—hoping, even—that the combination of anesthesia and painkillers would prompt some delirious drivel from her dear partner; the kind that could be held over his head to goad him into doing the dishes once in a while. This was not what she had in mind. Soul was not one to cry, or laugh, or smile, or emote whatsoever most of the time. Seeing him in floods of tears was, to put it lightly, an unexpected turn of events.

“Calm down before you hurt yourself,” she said, reaching up with one hand to move his bangs again. Tears had plastered some of his hair to his cheeks. “Just give it a few more minutes. You’ll feel better, then we can go home.”

Soul whined piteously.

“What kind of weapon can’t protect his meister?”

Maka heaved a sigh. Poor Soul, she thought. She had never seen him such a mess.

“Don’t put yourself down,” she said, stroking his hair reassuringly. “You’re a great partner, Soul. The best I could’ve ever hoped for.”

A deep breath stuttered its way down his throat as a fresh wave of tears welled up in his eyes. His lower lip quivered.

“I love you so muhh-uch!" he sobbed in his broken voice.

Maka tried again to hold back her laughter. “I love you, too,” she said. “Now will you please stop crying?”

Soul tried to wipe away his tears with the back of his wrist, but ended up bumping himself in the cheek, causing him to moan in discomfort. He hiccupped and sniffled and nodded his head, making an earnest effort to steady his breathing and stop the tears. Maka hoped he was beginning to come back around.

He did, eventually. With some help, he managed to sit up, and then, after a few minutes, she was able to get him on his feet and out of the recovery room. By the time they got home, Soul was more or less himself again. The first thing he did was take the gauze out of his mouth; the second was to lie down on the couch and stay there, motionless, one arm hanging over the side and his head backed up to the armrest. The swelling in his cheeks had gotten worse, and purple bruises were beginning to bloom under his eyes. He looked awful. Maka kept that thought to herself.

As he lay down, she busied herself in the kitchen. Soul paid no mind to what she was doing. He was tired. Between the anesthesia, the morphine, and the sobbing, what little energy he started the day with had been sapped completely out of him. He closed his eyes, trying his hardest to ignore the dull ache in his mouth and sleep.

That was not in the cards.

The sound of the blender turning on made him wince. He moved his hand to cover an ear, but found the resulting pressure on his jaw more irritating than the whir of the machine.

“Maka,” he groaned, holding the last letter for a good long time to properly convey his displeasure.

“Almost done!” she called back cheerfully.

“Do you have to?”

No reply.

It stopped. Soul breathed a small sigh of relief. The subsequent clatter of dishware was comparatively easy to ignore. Then he heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching from across the apartment.

When he opened his eyes, there was Maka, holding a clear glass full of frozen pink slurry. She sat down next to him on the couch, her hip pressed into his side, and dug a spoon into the mix.

“Here you go, best partner,” she said, beaming at him.

Soul tensed visibly. Underneath the dark blue bruises, red began creeping into his cheeks.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Maka asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t what?”

“You know what,” warned Soul in what was by far the least threatening manner Maka had ever seen.

“I have to, though.”

“Maka, on God, if you tell—”

She waved the spoon back and forth in front of his lips, causing him to pop his mouth shut in stubborn indignation. He eyed the pink mush suspiciously as though it might be poisoned.

"Relax," she said. "I won't tell anybody. But I might bring it up to you now and then."

"That's not fair,” Soul said, furrowing his brow in frustration. “I was high out of my mind."

"I'm sorry," said Maka disingenuously, “but it was really funny."

The red blush in his cheeks darkened to fuchsia. "It was not funny!" he cried, pouting up at her. His fists balled up on his stomach and he tried to sink deeper into the couch cushions, but it did not work.

Maka almost began to feel bad for teasing him. He must have felt awful; he certainly looked it, his face swollen and painted all different shades of red and purple. Maybe she was being unfair.

A drop of frozen strawberry goo fell off the spoon and onto his clavicle. Maka pulled the spoon away and placed it back in the cup.

“Okay, whatever you say.”

Soul threw his gaze across the room and stared at the wall opposite the couch as if it had done something wrong. His lower lip stuck out and his eyes were narrowed in a scowl. Maka sighed through her nose and rolled her eyes. Boys were so fragile.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Don’t be such a baby. You and I both know you’d tease me, too.”

“Not if you said—” Soul began to snap back, but thought better of what he was about to say. He shut his mouth so quickly it made him wince.

“What?”

“Never mind,” said Soul, reaching for the strawberry shake Maka still had in her hand. She lifted it up and held it away from him.

“Oh, now you want it?”

“Yes. What’s in it?”

“Don’t you try and change the subject,” Maka said, smiling a conspiratorial smile that made Soul squirm in discomfort. “Finish your thought.”

“What thought?”

With effort, Soul sat up, avoiding eye contact with Maka as he grabbed at the glass. She leaned back and held it out over the coffee table, Soul’s fingers closing once, then twice around thin air. Finally, he felt cold glass on his fingertips and seized it, wrenching it out of Maka’s hand and bringing it immediately to his lips. He turned it practically upside down, filling his mouth with cold slush so that he could not be expected to talk. It was Maka’s turn to pout at him.

“What happened that’s so off-limits to joke about?” she asked. “‘If I said’ what?”

Soul closed his eyes tight and drowned in his drink.

“You don’t really think you’re a bad partner, do you?”

Nothing.

“Was it ‘I love you?’”

A horrible gagging noise jumped out of Soul’s throat as he choked a mouthful of strawberry slush back into his cup.

“No!” he said.

“It was!” cried Maka.

“I don’t even remember saying that.” He was lying through his stupid pointy teeth.

A victorious smile swept across Maka’s face. Soul watched her nervously from the corner of his eye, still holding the edge of the mostly-empty glass to his lips. He shrank away from her as she grinned at him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I thought it was nice.”

“Nice? Great,” Soul mumbled into his cup.

“What? You’re my best friend, Soul. Sometimes it’s nice to get a little affirmation from you.”

Soul looked up at the ceiling, grimacing as if he were in pain.

“You don’t have to be so closed-off all the time,” continued Maka. “I know your cool guy persona is really important to you, but you can feel emotions once in a while. I love you, too!”

“As a best friend,” Soul said.

Maka’s smile shrank. Suddenly, her cheeks felt warm.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No,” Maka pressed, “that wasn’t nothing. What?”

“Forget it.”

“Soul!”

“Maka! My face hurts; I have, like, twelve different kinds of drugs in me—can we please have this conversation another time?”

“Absolutely not.”

Soul rolled his eyes so far back in his head that it made him dizzy. He slumped to one side, propping his shoulder against the back of the couch, and held the cold glass in his lap.

“I don’t know what you even want me to say,” he complained. “I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“Well, apparently I didn’t, either,” said Maka, pressing her palms into her knees and leaning closer to her partner.

“Don’t worry about it,” Soul insisted. “It’s not important.”

“It’s important to me!”

With a sigh, Soul’s head rolled back, bumping audibly into the wall behind the couch. He closed his eyes, Maka assumed, to avoid looking at her. She frowned at him. Coaxing Soul into talking comfortably about anything more personal than his favorite movies was such a chore. She refused to let up, though. If Soul was telling her what she thought he was telling her, then this was a conversation they needed to have, and Maka was not willing to let it go.

The feeling of her heart drumming against her ribs was awfully distracting.

“Soul?” she said.

No response.

Maka’s eyes darted down to the splotch of sticky strawberry juice drying in the dip of his collar bone. An idea crossed her mind; one that, at first, caused her heart to spring up into her throat. But then, as the thought unraveled in her head, her nervous, tight-lipped expression softened into one of easy confidence. She knew just what to do.

In one swift motion, she leaned in close and pressed her lips to his skin.

Soul made a noise she had never heard before. It was a yelp, or a shriek, or something; but whatever it was, as it tumbled out of his mouth, he went scrambling up the back of the sofa, only to crash down again moments later, eyes wide and arms sprawled out behind him.

“What was that?” he demanded, voice cracking halfway through.

Maka swayed backward, covering an uncontrollable fit of giggles with the back of her hand. “You had juice on you,” she explained through her laughter.

“Okay?” Soul said urgently. “And?”

“‘And’ nothing.”

Soul’s mouth hung half open as he stared at her, eyes full of desperate confusion. Maka smiled innocently at him.

“Do you want some more?” she asked.

Soul blushed fire engine red. Then, still smiling sweetly, Maka pointed to the almost-empty glass of strawberry slush in his hand. She could see it in his eyes when he realized she was talking about his drink, and when he did, he seemed to suddenly remember how to breathe.

Without waiting for him to answer, Maka reached for the cup and lifted it out of his hand. At first, all he did was watch her as she stood up, but then, when she moved to walk away, she felt a hand grab her by the wrist.

“Wait!”

She turned back to him, and when their eyes met, he sucked in his lip nervously.

“That’s not...what I wanted more of.” He tried his hardest to say it smoothly. It did not work. He stared up at her, looking as if he were about to combust waiting for her reply.

Maka gently pulled her wrist out of his grasp.

“Nice try,” she said, “but till you can brush your teeth normal again, you’re not getting anything else from me.”

Then she poked his nose, and he shut his eyes and screwed up his face. By the time he opened them again, she had already resumed her walk to the kitchen.

“Hey!” he called. “Maka! Wait!”

She did not wait.

“Maka! Did we just—Hey! Maka!”

Oh, the sweet sound of victory.


	2. Tooth Hurty 2: Tooth Harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul attempts to address what happened about a week ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As soon as I posted the first chapter I thought to myself "I could've made a better ending" and have been working on this off and on ever since. Here it is, and it's way longer than I thought it would be. Bon appetit.

Neither of them wanted to be the first to bring up what happened. Maka was waiting patiently for Soul to do so, while Soul, being himself, stubbornly refused.

This was smoothed over by the fact that, in the coming days, Soul spent most of his time asleep, and so, naturally, Maka did not see him all that much. The cocktail of medication he was taking made him drowsy, and besides, if he was asleep, that meant he couldn’t feel the pain in his jaw.

Over the weekend, while she was at home, Maka passed the time in front of the TV or reading quietly in her room, checking in on Soul once every few hours to see if he needed anything. It was not like her to miss school, though. When Monday came around, once she was sure he would be alright by himself, she went back to class while he stayed home in bed.

The notes she took for him that day were left on his bedside table. Come morning, she found them untouched, with Soul still buried underneath his blanket. She frowned.

“Soul?” she said quietly. “Are you awake?”

A soft groan was his only response.

“Do you want breakfast before I go?”

“Not hungry,” mumbled Soul, pulling the blanket up over his head.

“Well, okay, but you should try to eat something today.”

“Later.”

Maka stuck out her tongue at him while he couldn’t see. “Fine,” she said, and left it at that.

When her classmates asked about Soul, it was hard not to talk about...it. But a promise was a promise: She would not tell anyone. Even if she wanted to, she had no idea who she would tell. Soul was her best friend—until further notice, anyway. When she had something she needed to get off her chest, she would come to him, but with him being all but incapacitated by painkillers and his own misery, there was no one for her to talk to.

“How’s Soul?” someone would ask.

And Maka would say: “Oh, he’s fine. He’s just being a baby. He’ll use this to skip class all week if I let him.”

Surely enough, that was exactly what happened. The rest of the week passed in much the same way: Maka woke up, poked her head in to check on a still-sleeping Soul, and, without much in the way of conversation, she left for school. When she got home, she would check on him again and offer him dinner, which he would refuse. By the time she was ready for bed, Soul was just waking up, and he would spend a few hours in front of the TV before going back to sleep and starting the whole thing over again.

On Friday, Maka went shopping after school. It was lonely and boring by herself, and she was so preoccupied with thoughts of Soul, she walked straight past the milk not once, but two times.

It was late into the afternoon by the time she came home. With her arms full of groceries, she nudged open the door, expecting to find a dark, empty apartment behind, but instead, she found Soul, already awake and sat on the couch.

They both looked at one another in surprise.

“Shit,” said Soul under his breath. With a groan, he pushed himself off the couch and shuffled over to help.

He was still in his pajamas, but, Maka noted, not the same ones he had been wearing when she left. His hair was clean but disheveled, looking like it was still drying after being washed. Good for him, she thought. It had been a while since he had the energy to do anything more than lie around in bed or on the sofa. A proper shower was a step in the right direction.

He took one of the bags from her and set it on the countertop next to the fridge.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing the front door shut behind her with the heel of her boot. Then she followed suit with the rest of the bags.

“No problem,” Soul mumbled.

Refusing to let on that there was anything out of the ordinary, Maka set about unloading the groceries. Meanwhile, Soul leaned heavily against the refrigerator, looking exhausted after the strenuous task of walking across the apartment. His eyelids drooped and his head rolled to the side, bonking into the freezer door. Maka threw a sideways glance at him.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” she said. “It’s nice to see you.”

A small smile struggled to lift the corners of Soul’s lips. He opened his eyes halfway to look at her and said in his low, sleepy voice, “Nice to see you, too.”

Her heart did a brand new kind of somersault. She wrenched her eyes away from his smile, suddenly very interested in the box of crackers she was holding.

“How are you feeling?” she asked without looking at him.

“Tired,” Soul replied. “And sore.”

“Mouth sore or all over sore?”

“All over.”

“You’ve been spending too much time in bed,” said Maka.

“I know.” With his shoulder, Soul pushed off the fridge and wandered over to take a can of soup out of Maka’s bag. “I’m up now, though,” he said. “Thought we could watch a movie or something.”

Maka held her box a little bit tighter. A movie, huh? A bolt of excitement thrummed its way out from her chest, down into the bottom of her belly, where it stirred up a swarm of butterflies. She glanced up at Soul out of the corner of her eye. He was not looking back at her.

“You sure you feel up for it?” she asked, putting on an innocent smile.

“I think I can handle sitting on my ass for a couple hours.” Soul nonchalantly placed a hand in the small of her back as he reached over her head and into the cupboard. When he leaned close to her, she could smell mint thick on his breath, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.

“Go pick one out, then,” she said, and bumped him playfully in the ribs with her elbow. “I can finish up here.”

Soul stumbled back a step and held her gaze for a moment. She saw him swallow before he nodded his head, mumbling an “Okay,” and then, off he went. Behind his back, Maka smiled to herself, swaying contentedly back and forth while she put away her things.

It was happening.

Eventually, Soul shouted a title back to her, asking if it was okay. She didn’t bother to ask what it was about. “That’s fine,” she called back absentmindedly. Whatever he wanted to watch was alright with her; she wouldn’t be paying attention to the movie, anyway, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t, either.

When she was finished, she rounded the corner into the living room to find Soul sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face. A set of opening credits were frozen on the TV in front of him. Outside, it was getting dark.

Keeping her voice soft, Maka asked, “Are you positive you’re up for a movie?”

“What?” Soul’s head popped up from his hands, and, for a second, all he did was stare dumbly at her. Then, once his synapses had time to catch up, he said, “Yeah, I’m fine,” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Maka couldn’t help a smile.

“If you say so.”

“For real,” Soul insisted. All the while, his voice betrayed him: It was quiet and groggy, and he sounded like he should have been in bed hours ago. That only made his persistence all the more endearing.

Slowly, as if he were afraid he might fall over, he leaned forward to grab the remote off the table. Then he relaxed against the back of the sofa and, patting the cushion next to him, said, “C’mon, are we watching or not?”

Without a word, Maka shimmied in between the coffee table and the sofa and sat down squarely on top of Soul’s lap.

Behind her, she felt his chest puff up as he sucked in a deep breath. For a moment, his hands hovered awkwardly on either side of her, until, finally, to her delight, he wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. Then she felt the weight of his head on the back of her shoulder, and the warmth of his breath through her shirt.

“Okay,” he said softly, half to himself, half to her.

Satisfied, she relaxed against his chest, and, sighing, Soul tightened his arms around her belly. Maka watched the TV screen expectantly, but when seconds passed and nothing happened, she said, “Soul?”

His head moved a little bit; she guessed, so that he could look up at her. “Huh?”

“Are we watching the movie?”

There was a pause before he said, “Yeah?”

“Do you wanna hit ‘play?’”

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed under his breath, fumbling with the remote he forgot he was holding. Then, when Maka started to laugh, he said, “Shut up.”

That only made her laugh harder.

Soul positively bristled. He turned his head away from her, resting his cheek on her shoulder, and, when she looked down, she could see him pouting at the wall. Maka let her head fall on top of his and said, “You’re cute.”

“I’m—” Indignation swelled in his voice, like he was about to argue, but, to Maka’s surprise, he bit his tongue. In the beat of silence that passed between them, he squeezed her a little bit tighter, breathed in deep, then let it out in a slow gush of hot breath that sent a shiver crawling up her back.

“No, I’m not,” he mumbled.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Soul said nothing; just buried his face in the back of her shirt.

Music was building as the opening scene panned its way across the screen, and already, neither of them were paying attention.

Maka rested her hands on his arms, rubbing her thumb up and down his sleeve. Her eyes were on the screen, but she wasn’t really watching. She was too preoccupied with the warmth of Soul’s arms around her, and his breath on her back. But when the scene changed to a busy set full of scrambling actors and flashing lights, it was so bright and lively, it stole away her attention for a moment. Sparing a glance down at the top of Soul's head, she took the opportunity to pull the conversation in a different direction—maybe one he would find a little easier to follow.

“So,” she began, “what's it about?”

“What?” said Soul.

“The movie.”

He lifted his head up from her shoulder. “What do you mean, 'what's it about?' It's Independence Day.”

“I think I know what Independence Day is”—Maka leaned forward to grab the DVD case off the coffee table, then rapped the backs of her fingers against the front cover—“and I don't think Will Smith was there when it happened.”

Soul stared at her in silent bewilderment, his mouth agape. Then, at length, he said, “Are you yanking my chain?”

“No.”

“You've never seen Independence Day?”

“No!”

“Oh, my God.”

In his voice was the same barely-restrained outrage he put on every time she told him she hadn’t seen or heard something he thought was a “classic,” or whatever. It was just as funny now as it had always been.

“What?” she said through her giggles.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing!” Tossing the case onto the couch next to them, Maka twisted around to look at Soul, who watched her all the while with a crooked grin taking up half his face. She leaned in close and said, “Why are you always so mean to me?”

Soul slid his hands up her sides and around her back, pulling her tight against his chest. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his smile into the crook of her neck. “‘Cause you’re so fucking weird,” he said, his voice low and rough and brimming with affection. The tickle of his breath on her skin made her squirm.

The TV vied for her attention with exciting, suspenseful music, hinting that something important was happening, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

“You didn’t answer my first question,” Maka pointed out.

“What question?” said Soul, his attention clearly elsewhere.

“What’s the movie about?”

“It—really? It’s Independence Day. There’s fuckin’...there’s aliens. I don’t know.”

“There’s aliens?”

“Did you not see the big-ass spaceship in the first, like, two minutes?”

“You were distracting me.”

Soul laughed then. It was soft and quiet, and she felt it more so than heard it. “Yeah?” he said, and he sounded so damn smug she almost regretted giving him the satisfaction—“almost” being the operative word. When he nuzzled his nose into her neck, though, and grazed his lips against her skin, she found it awfully hard to be upset.

Her eyes drifted shut, and, smiling to herself, she said, “You’re still distracting me, actually.”

“I’m trying,” he said into her ear. A feeling like static shot through her, and her heart skipped a beat before redoubling its pace.

It was kind of uncomfortable, sitting there the way she was, with her legs across his and her body twisted halfway around; but short of the world ending outside, there was nothing that could have convinced her to move. She would have been happy to stay like that as long as he wanted to hold her, and if the eagerness with which he touched her was anything to go by, that could be quite some time yet.

One of his hands wandered down to rest in the curve of her waist, and he pressed a kiss into her neck, underneath her ear. The smile on her face cracked into a grin.

“Wait a minute,” she said, trying her best to sound scandalized. “Are you telling me you don’t want to watch the movie?”

In response, Soul kissed her again, then said, “You’re talking way too much.”

“I am?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

With that, Maka readjusted herself in his lap. She didn't go far; not that she could have, anyway, with Soul holding her so tightly. When she moved away, he tried to follow her, leaning forward off the back of the couch, but she stopped him with her hands pressed flat into his chest. Soul hit the cushions behind him, staring wide-eyed at her as she swung a leg over his lap and settled down with her knees on either side of him.

He swallowed.

Then she leaned in. It took a moment for Soul to realize he was supposed to close his eyes. When he did, he slammed them shut, eager for whatever it was she was about to give him.

The sounds of frantic conversation coming from the TV drowned under the drum of her own heartbeat in her ears. This was exactly what she hoped for when Soul suggested a movie—actually, she had been waiting all week for something like this. But even so, now that it was happening, she found herself feeling kind of anxious. It wasn’t like she had ever...done this before. What if she did it wrong? Would he laugh at her? Knowing Soul, yes, absolutely, he would.

In fairness, she would have laughed at him, too, if he was the one to screw it up, but she would have preferred her first kiss not be screwed up at all, by either of them.

She started out softly, tentatively, with a slow brush of her lips against his, and that must have been the right thing to do, because as soon as she did, she heard Soul’s breath hitch. His hands tightened a little around her waist. For a second, it was perfect. Then, all of a sudden, what was already barely a kiss was broken too quickly by a gush of nervous giggles.

Soul frowned; she could feel it in the fleeting, clumsy almost-kiss he pressed into her smile before she pulled away. Then, confused, he murmured, “Why are you laughing?”

Maka was hardly listening. Her insides did cartwheels, knocking around the butterflies she had, until now, managed to keep boxed up. They spun and fluttered and bubbled up in her throat, spilling past her lips in laughter she just couldn’t bite back.

She didn’t know how to answer him. Why was she laughing? Maybe it was the culmination of all the absurdity: Of Soul, half-conscious and drugged out of his mind, telling her through sobs and hiccups that he loved her; of her completely misinterpreting this declaration and his subsequent defensive pouting; of the whole situation being shelved for days because he was still too miserable to do anything about it.

It was so stupid.

Was she going to tell him that? Yeah, maybe later; but for now, all she could think to say was: “I don’t know.”

Speaking of pouting, he was doing it again. Poor Soul was bright red; even in the low light, she could see the blush hot under his skin. Laughter was probably not the reaction he was hoping for, and she wondered briefly if he thought he had done something wrong. He hadn’t—the opposite was true, actually—but no harm in letting him and his fragile ego know that.

This time, when she said, “Sorry,” it was in earnest. Then, by way of apology, she kissed him on the nose. Soul squirmed and tipped his head up, and while the exposition rolled on behind her, she let him distract her with more pressing matters.

Soul’s kisses were long and lazy; he took his time, carefully memorizing the curve of her smile, comfortable that he would have all the time in the world to do so. She was going nowhere fast. Her head was dizzy and airy and she wasn’t sure she could have stood up if she wanted to.

She had to remind herself not to touch him. She wanted to slip a hand up his neck and caress his cheek and tangle her fingers in his hair, but every time she thought about it, she remembered the catalyst for all this. Nothing would have ruined the moment quite like bumping into a still-sore incision, and so, reluctantly, she kept her hands to herself...mostly.

Her fingers played in the fabric of his shirt, pulling gently on his collar to coax him back to her between kisses. He didn’t need an invitation; she knew that, but he seemed to like it, anyway. Whenever she did it, he would grin against her lips and make a sound in his throat that sent tingles racing up her back. Then she would giggle and hum and lean into it, and this went on for she had no idea how long.

Things were still happening on the TV. A loud noise or a shout would snatch her attention for a moment, before it fell comfortably back where it belonged: on Soul, and his kisses, and his breath, and his heartbeat underneath her shaky hands.

Eventually, after what felt like a very long time, she did pull away, if only briefly. He tried to play her game, tugging on her waist, wanting to pull her back to him, but she would only come so far. Instead of kissing him like he hoped she would, she dropped her forehead against his and said, “Hey, Soul?”

He made a noise. It was more so one of complaint than curiosity, but she would take it as an answer, anyway.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

Soul was quiet for a beat. If he was looking at her funny, she couldn’t tell; her eyes were still closed. She imagined he was, though, based on his tone of voice when he asked, “What d’you mean?”

“I mean...are you, like, my boyfriend now, or...what?”

“Am I?”

“I don’t know. We kind of skipped that part.”

“Well…” Soul fidgeted underneath her. “I don’t know, either. You tell me.”

Maka leaned back. When she opened her eyes, she found Soul frowning up at her, trepidation plain on his face. What was he afraid of? That she’d say, “No, actually. I know I just made out with you for, like, an hour, but turns out I’m not interested?”

She didn’t say that. What she said was: “It’s up to me?”

“Yeah.”

A sly smile twisted the corner of her lips.

“What’s the question?”

Soul’s frown deepened. “Are you serious?”

“Say it.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice was the most grating singsong she could manage.

Soul looked down and away, staring at the corner of the room, and said, “You’re ruining my life.”

“You love me.”

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Why do you gotta make this so weird?”

“‘Cause you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

That had its intended effect: Soul went red up to the tops of his ears. “I’m not...embarrassed,” he said with no conviction whatsoever. “And I’m not ‘cute,’ either. Knock that off.”

“You’re doing it again,” said Maka.

“Doing what?”

“Changing the subject ‘cause you don’t wanna talk about feelings.”

“We were doing fine not talking before.”

Maka clicked her tongue. For some reason, she assumed that after all that, Soul would be a little more comfortable talking to her about how he felt, and what he wanted out of it. Apparently she forgot who she was dealing with.

“Look,” she said, “you don’t have to be shy about it. You already know I like you, too.”

“You do?”

Okay.

She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. Surely he wasn’t serious. He looked pretty serious, though, staring up at her with what seemed to be genuine surprise in his eyes.

“Soul, are you kidding me?”

“No?”

“We just—”

“Yeah, but you never said.”

Maka was at a loss. Whatever universe Soul was living in where you could sit down with somebody and kiss for the better part of a feature length film and have no feelings for them at all, she had never been there. Speaking of which, how long had they been sitting there? Was this movie almost over?

“I didn’t think I had to say,” she confessed.

“Oh.”

“Do I?”

Soul looked away again, like he didn’t want to answer, and that was answer enough for her. She shot him a crooked smile, then leaned in and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. He shut his eyes and blew out a breath; almost a chuckle, but not quite there.

“I do like you,” she said. “A lot.”

He was trying not to smile; trying and failing, that is. It was kind of adorable how terrible he was at this.

“Cool,” was all he said.

Oh, yeah. Terrible.

“So?” said Maka.

“So…?”

“So, are we…”

“Yeah, I guess. If you want.”

There it was. Best friend? Not anymore. Well, sort of, but—wow! Maka nodded her head. That was the only thing she could think to do. She nodded, and Soul grinned at her, and she could have lived in that moment forever were it not for the horrible commotion coming from the TV behind her.

It was enough to draw a glance over her shoulder.

“Is this almost over?” she asked. “It’s way past your turn to make dinner.”

Soul’s smile fell.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s, like, half over.”

“Half?”

“You’ve seriously never seen Independence Day?”

“I still haven’t seen Independence Day.”

Soul opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated, looking embarrassed again. “Yeah, well,” he started, “this is the part where he punches the alien, so you’ll wanna see that.”

“I mean, you’re right,” said Maka, twisting around to look at the TV. “I do wanna see that.” Then, throwing Soul a look, she added, “How long is this, though? I thought it would be almost done by now.”

“Two and a half hours.”

Maka did a quick doubletake from the TV back to Soul.

“Two and a half hours?”

“That’s what I said.”

She frowned at him then, and said, “I thought you were tired.”

Soul shrugged his shoulders, but didn’t say a word.

“We could’ve watched something else,” said Maka.

“I know. I picked the longest one we had.”

Baffled, Maka asked, “What for?”

In response, Soul gestured broadly to her on his lap. She felt her cheeks go bright red, then redder still when Soul cracked a smile and started to laugh. Frowning, she stuck out her lip, which was not meant to be taken as an invitation, but intent be damned; it got his attention, anyway. Soul’s eyes dropped down to her mouth, and he said, “You’re pretty cute, too.”

“Don’t you try and—”

Too late. Soul leaned forward and kissed the pout on her lips. She barely had time to grumble his name before he kissed her again, then again, till she forgot what it was that was bothering her in the first place.

“We still got half a movie left,” he said between kisses.

“Do you know”—Soul interrupted her with another kiss—“how late it’s gonna be—”

“Relax,” said Soul. “I’ll make you dinner. Just...later.”

Maka put a finger to Soul’s lips. “Or,” she said, “we could make dinner now, then finish the movie later.”

A little spark lit up behind Soul’s eyes. “You wanna watch more later?” he said.

They both knew they weren’t talking about “watching” anything, but Maka played along. “Yeah. And maybe, if you’re not too tired, we could watch another one after.”

“I can stay up,” Soul said quickly.

“Yeah?” Maka gave him a playful shove in the chest. “Good luck, sleepyhead.”

Turns out, she was right: He couldn’t stay up. She wasn’t sure how long it took—it might have been half an hour, or maybe even less—but soon after they sat down, Soul’s head started to feel very heavy on her shoulder. It was pretty cute until she felt a drop of drool run down her collar.

Maka never did get to watch Independence Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my friend Tilon who actually sat down and watched all of Independence Day with me for research purposes. You, my dude, are the real MVP.


End file.
